In Which Ziva David Knows What's Important
by thatiranianphantom
Summary: He could not be blamed for this.  The much-requested sequel to Chofesh, Cherut, Rachachim
1. In Which We Begin

**So here it is, the much-requested sequel to **_**Chofesh, Cherut, Rachachim. **_**This is in Ziva's perspective, which, believe me, is SO much harder to write then Tony's. This will, like CCR, contain LOTS of Tony-angst, but more Tiva then its predecessor. Enjoy, and review, please and thank you!**

**BREAK**

**Take a warning. The inside of her mind was not a pleasant place, but do not patronize her by pretending you understand her. Do not treat her like she is some kind of tragic hero. She simply does what needs to be done, nothing more and nothing less. **

**Just remember that. At the very least, it'll save us all some embarrassment as we begin our story. **

_He could not be blamed for this._

For anything directly related to the hell the last few months had been, really. Who on earth could have foreseen him choosing a woman who turned out to be an abusive psychopath? And how it ended…Ziva remembers being trapped in that tiny closet vividly, holding Ducky desperately against her, hands on his wounds to keep him from bleeding out.

The dark was suffocating them. Ziva had never liked the dark, herself.

As a child, she had a horse nightlight that she was very fond of. It gave her whole room a friendly glow, shielding her from the monsters she had heard Aba talk about.

One night, as her mother had tucked her in and turned out the light, Ziva had jumped up at the immediate blackness she was plunged into. She had crept out of bed, almost too tense to move, tears tracking her cheeks.

Eli David had been in his study, and on his desk, tossed haphazardly on top of a stack of papers, sat her beloved nightlight.

"Aba, my light," Ziva had started toward it, but Eli had pulled her back.

"No more light, Ziva. You are no longer a child. You do not need such childlike comforts."

The tears started anew. "But, Aba, it is dark in my room!I will be scared!"

Eli David turned back to his work without looking at her.

"Pain and fear are weakness, Zivaleh. One must bear them in silence if that is what is necessary to grow."

**BREAK**

_He could not be blamed for this._

Tony had the most dazed look on his face when he had pulled open the closet door. The light had flooded the tiny space, and Ziva had fallen into his arms.

His eyes were so blank, and Ziva knew the look so horribly well. A million soldiers, a million veterans, America and Israel alike.

So, logically, Ziva should have seen this coming. People did not just _recover_ immediately from a trauma such as this.

He had returned to work almost immediately of course. Passed his pysch evaluation, but Tony had been doing this long enough to be able to cheat a psych test. He was still an integral part of the team. He participated as much as ever, he caught the culprits with vigor still, and after cases, he still joined the team for drinks.

But that look, that horrible, vacant look was still there.

She had come to see that look as a third party to their relationship. Tony, Ziva and the PTSD.

Oh, sure, at certain points it seemed like their relationship was that of a normal couple. Dinner, dates, sex. They were practically living together (the root of the problem, but she could not just leave him alone at nighttime).

_He could not be blamed for this._

Tony was, and is, her stability. He was her tug to her new life, away from the darkness and into the light kind of thing. She took enormous pride in being one of the few people who could see through his carefully perpetrated façade of the loveable goofball. He understood her, he cared about her, he had always been there for her.

He had done so very much for her. She could not just turn her back on him.

_He could not be blamed for this._

So she wore the bruises quietly, saying nothing, giving nothing away.

"Pain and fear are weakness, Zivaleh. One must bear them in silence if that is what is necessary to grow."

**Keep it together. Learn as she did, we are only beginning. **


	2. In Which We Know Things Have Changed

_**A/N: **_**And a successful start to what I hope will be a successful sequel! Thanks for sticking with me guys, life kinda got away from me first week back to school. I'm back now, so read, enjoy, and as always, review! Please, taking the time out to tell me what you thought actually thought is so helpful.**

**Also, any language mistakes please forgive, I'm still learning!**

_**Conozca a su enemigo. **_**Yes, it's Spanish, but Ziva remembers it as her mantra from her days in the army. Know your enemy. Strange how easy, how thoughtless it had been, to strike back at these nameless, faceless enemies, these supposed threats to her country. **

**Strange how meaningful **_**know your enemy **_**is when it's not so easy to fight back. **

He was back at work. Ziva was proud of him for that (any for many other things), but it would be a lie to say she did not worry. Tony had always thrived on his job, on being able to help those in need, on Gibbs' approval. Especially on Gibbs' approval. Ziva knew he would kill himself by rushing back into work as soon as possible, if only to earn Gibbs' approval.

He did not come out in the field with them, yet. He had yet to complete his psych evaluation, and until he did he would not be allowed back in the field. Even so, he was ever-present in the bullpen, in Abby's lab, in Ducky's morgue. It was almost as if he was forcing himself to be as he was.

Until he couldn't anymore.

It had first started with bathroom trips becoming more and more frequent. Ziva really didn't want to read too much into it, until she came in one day to see Tony hunched at his desk, sweating and shaking, before dashing to the bathroom.

And, well, Ziva never had much of an issue barging into the men's room.

He felt guilty for it at, and she knew it. The panic attacks, when they started, prevented anyone from touching him. She made the mistake of reaching out, that first time she had followed him into the men's room. That was never to happen again. She had narrowly dodged his fist, ducking down beside him to hear him mutter "No! Stay away from Ziva! You can't have Ziva!"

"Tony," she had whispered, "Tony, I am here."

She had gingerly placed a hand on his heaving back.

"Move your head down low," she instructed. "Take deep breaths. Just focus on calming down. Just calm down. I am right here."

And he _had _recovered, ducking his head with flaming cheeks.

Now he goes into the interrogation room and sits on the floor, sweating and shaking until Ziva comes in and calms him as best she can.

And the attacks have calmed, at least somewhat. Gibbs, McGee and she have become much better at seeing them coming and isolating him, but everyone in the building knew. Ziva could hear the whispers in the halls, heard what they called him. She knew they didn't dare say a word in front of a member of Leroy Jethro Gibbs' team, though, so she had largely tried to ignore it (She knows, ignoring it did not solve the problem, but at the time it was the only way she knew how to deal with the situation).

Gibbs was keeping a close eye on both her and Tony, and Ziva could feel the heat of his eyes on her every day, though there were no head slaps to be seen (Gibbs being gentle on Tony, in his own way.).

And at the end of the day, Tony and Ziva went home together.

Everyone had told her it was a bad idea. Tony was damaged to begin with, and now he was far too flighty to make a halfway decent boyfriend. She even knew it to be true herself, but it had not stopped her. It was her Tony; they had been through so much together. They would get through this together, she knew it. Besides, they were already living together.

Now, do not look at her like that. It had been awhile they had been living together, and as a boyfriend, Tony was consistently sweet and gentle. Ziva is not stupid. She would not stay in a relationship going nowhere.

Oh, why is she kidding herself? For Tony, she would happily waste years simply being his girlfriend.

You might consider Ziva foolish for staying, considering what Tony did not even know about their relationship. Tony, Ziva, and the PTSD, remember? Well, do not pity her, do not judge her, and do not try to help her. She needs none of that. Ziva David is a child of war, a daughter of a frontline soldier.

Violence is nothing new to her.

How is this related, you may ask?

If nothing, it should show you that what Ziva has is nothing she can't handle.

Or it wouldn't be, if only the panic attacks were his only symptoms.

**Please, stop reading. Just leave them be. **


	3. In Which The Bruises Appear

**A/N: You guys are awesome! And picking up some readers again from CCR, yay! Sorry this took so long, I was really behind schoolwork-wise so writing kinda went on the back burner. Anyhow, enjoy as always!**

When Ziva was a little girl, barely ten, her mother had left. Tali was just a toddler, all red cheeks and brunette curls. Ziva had tried to pull her mother's suitcases back to the house she had grown up in, hoping so feverently that she could convince her mother that she didn't need to leave, that Daddy still loved them and would be so sad to see them gone, like nothing had to change. Rivka David had smiled sadly and ran a hand down Ziva's dark curls.

"I cannot stay, Zivaleh. I cannot stay in a place that offers us only pain."

"No!" Ziva had cried. "Aba will be angry if you leave, Ima! He will send the men after you!"

She had tugged on her mother's blouse frantically, but her mother had only tugged herself free and solemnly picked up a suitcase.

"Ani Ohev Otach, tateleh. Laila tov."

"Ima!" Ziva had cried, running after the only person who had ever made her feel safe. By this point, Tali had started crying, but Ziva could not bring herself to comfort her.

Rivka was about to swing into her car, not expecting the seventy pounds of desperate child that blocked her way.

For a moment, Ziva recalled Rivka looking almost unbearably sad as she cupped her daughter's face.

"Your name means brilliance, Zivaleh. Never forget it. You are a_ zohar_, do not let Eli destroy that in you."

And with that, Ziva's mother drove out of her life.

And why is this relevant, you ask?

Because out of all the things Ziva has blocked out of her childhood, two parts of that memory stand out. One, Ziva has never forgotten her mother's words.

And two, in her mother's embrace is the last time Ziva ever remembers feeling safe.

Until she met Gibbs, with his quiet strength. McGee, with his incredible bravery, Ducky, with his grace. Abby, with her incredible amounts of love.

And Tony. And _that _is where Ziva found safety for the first time since she was ten. And that's something she is not willing to give up, not at any cost.

She's sure you think she's crazy. You think that if nothing else, she should have said something. Anything, really. She had started another chapter of her life in America, shedding the assassin skin and indoctrinating herself as another American citizen. She had tried so hard to rid herself of her old life, old "friends" and family included. Ziva was no longer Ziva David, trained assassin. She was Ziva David, Federal Agent.

So why was she subjecting herself to this? She could tell someone, anyone. It wouldn't take much.

(Really, it would only take her rolling up her sleeves).

But if there's one person Ziva knows, it's Tony. And she knows it would crush him.

His guilt complex is astronomical, and after what he went through with Shayla…she can't put this on him too.

She sees that look, you know. She knows you want to know. All the ambiguity, it's getting your sheep, isn't it? (Goat? Elephant? It never made much sense to her, why would you want to steal someone's sheep and why would it signify annoyance?)

You want to know? Fine.

It had started the week after the entire debacle with….her (Ziva made it a point to only say her name when she absolutely had to). Ziva had taken a shaking, pale and deeply traumatized Tony home with her, despite Gibbs' steely gaze. He had insisted on taking the couch, but somewhere around 3am, his frantic screams had sent her running for the living room. He was awake, his hair sticking in all directions, his eyes wide and terror-stricken.

"Oh, Tony.." she breathed.

"She was here, Ziva. And she knew." He grabbed her arm, jerking her towards him.

"She was going to kill me."

Ziva carefully extracting her arm and rubbed it up and down Tony's.

"She is not here, Tony." She brushed some hair out of his eyes. "She is dead. She will never be here again."

"Ziva," he gasped, and he sounded so small, so desperate, so un-Tony. Ziva was, for once in her life, at a loss for what to do.

All she knows is, sometime later, when they ended up in Ziva's bed, Tony shivering against her while she rubs his back, that Tony would kill her if she ever breathed a word of this to anyone.

_Man's got a reputation to protect_. (She could intone his voice perfectly).

They fell asleep that way, that much she remembers. She must have too, because, based on the bedside clock, the first punch landed around 5:30, with enough force to nearly knock her out of the bed.

Grabbing her arm and wincing, she turned to Tony, who was now thrashing wildly, arms and legs flying everywhere.

"Tony!" she called, laying her palms on his face. His legs stopped, but his arms continued flailing. His eyes rose to meet hers, but they were completely blank and expressionless, as if he was looking at her, but not seeing her in front of hi,

And Ziva knew exactly what was wrong. Tony was having a night terror, and night terrors are rarely one-time occurrences.

Through the course of that night, Ziva gained three new bruises, all of which she covered with a long-sleeved shirt.

And before you suggest it, she tried leaving the bed. She tried within the first hour, only to find out that if she did, Tony's wails got so unbearable, so desperate and heartbreaking, that Ziva couldn't bring herself to leave again.

And so she bore the bruises silently, because crazy as it may sound, during the day, Tony was still her safe place.

And she was right. It was not a one-time occurrence.

"_**Your name means brilliance, Zivaleh. Never forget it. You are a zohar, do not let Eli destroy that in you."**_


	4. In Which We Meet The King Of Geeks

**A/N: I'm alllivvvveeeee! Barely, thanks to work and finals, but alive nonetheless. I've also got a little bit more of this plotted out. It won't be really long, but it should be a good length, and I'm hopeful I can finish!**

**You remember Ziva saying she can kill you with a paperclip? I'm fairly certain she could kill you through the computer, so it's really in your best interest to review. I'm only thinking of your health. **

**-Queequeg417 (you can call me Julian). **

Ziva knows you rushed into this. It is your own fault, really, but you have still been thrust into this new tale with no warning whatsoever. She knows she tends to be vague (she speaks seven languages, is it really her fault?), but the clues were there. You should have picked up on them. Ziva does doubt any of you would make it at Mossad.

And no, before you suggest, in this particular installment there will be no meaningful tale of childhood woe with a profound connection to the situation in her hand. She has already shared too much of her childhood, you should be happy you have been on the getting end (receiving end?) of this much to begin with.

Nobody really noticed. It didn't surprise her, it was not a significant move to begin with, but she did expect, at the very least, some snide comments about Tony, and was actually looking forward to the pain she had to inflict (if she could currently move her arms), when they inevitably found out.

But no. Tony had quietly moved in with Ziva (what did _you _think she was talking about) and things were exactly the same as they were before. Tony was fighting his hardest to get back to his old self, she could tell. He super glued McGee's hands to his keyboard, went down to Abby's lab for her enthusiastic hugs and excited chatter, even indulged in tea for Ducky's sake every now and then.

And at night, they would go back to _their _house and Tony would take over the kitchen, sometimes pushing her out when she tried to help, sometimes coming up behind her and kissing her neck to distract her, just for the fun of it. Many nights, they'd pick a movie from Tony's _very_ extensive collection, and he'd bring her a beer on the couch. They'd cuddle together (yes, she cuddles), and she would sometimes fall asleep lying against him, his fingers running absently through her hair, though sometimes he poked her awake if a particularly exciting part was coming up. When that happened, she'd watch through sleep-heavy eyes as he bounced like an excited little boy and his eyes shone. In that moment, she could very easily imagine doing this for a very long time.

Other times, even with her protests, he'd carry her to bed. She fought it the first couple times, insisting that she'd walked through stakeouts involving terrorists, she was fairly certain she could handle the five feet to the bedroom. It didn't deter Tony, though.

"Even crazy Israeli ninja chicks need their big, strong, Italian men to take care of them sometimes," he'd say, and Ziva would wonder why she didn't feel the flash of irritation she'd expect.

Not to say that they never fought, of course. Tony was known for his childishness and it did rear its head at the worst of times.

They came from different worlds, they were very different people, and much as Tony would never admit it, she knew how very committed he was to this already. This scared her sometimes, and I think we all know what Ziva does when she's scared.

It more than made up for the nights, she promises. She had even devised a way for the blows to create minimal bruising/pain by curling up in the fetal position as Tony drifted off to sleep. The sex was another matter, but Ziva simply made it her mission for it to be fast and distracting (just the way she had always had it) and it didn't seem to be an issue thus far. The blows usually started around 3am, as Tony flailed like a banshee, hitting and kicking and punching. Usually he got her arms and legs, but once he had hit her face, and Ziva had to apply three different brands of makeup before it was covered to her satisfaction.

_He does not mean it. It is not his fault. He is still recovering. It would destroy him if he knew._ It became her mantra, repeated until she was fairly positive she believed it.

And everything was perfect.

Who is really surprised that didn't last.

It started when Gibbs sent her down to Computer Crimes, to confer with an Agent that Vance had insisted receive Intel on a case. Abby was none too pleased, nor McGee, and now Ziva.

She had stormed downstairs into computer crimes, and briskly made her way to the desk pointed out to her by the secretary.

"Agent Francis?" she bit off, regarding the young, dark-haired man in front of her.

"Actually, if Agent Francis makes you angry, I'd prefer you call me Sam," he replied, not looking up from his computer.

Perplexed, she regarded the uninterested man. "Excuse me?"

He shook his head with a slight smile playing at his lips. "I said you should call me Sam if the official title 'Agent Francis' is going to be said with such a ferocity. Or such a large amount of saliva."

He wiped his face with his shirtsleeve, and finally turned around to face her. His eyes were pale blue, and his hair stuck up in random places, the way Tony's had when they first met.

He regarded her expectantly. "So?"

"So what?"

"Well, three things, now that you mention it. Threefold, if you will. One, didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to stare? Second, traditionally, when one person extends their first name, the companion responds in kind…"

"You are not my companion, and I was not staring."

"Noted. Thirdly, " his mouth quirked in a smile. "I hear you have Intel."

Ziva's cheeks flushed (anger, don't worry. It felt patently like anger), and she slapped the file into the agent's hands.

He didn't seem to notice, and his eyes, shaded by dark glasses, immediately flickered down to the sheets in the file. He indicated a chair next to him, and she sat reluctantly.

For several awkward minutes, she twisted her fingers together as she waited and Sam – Agent Francis worked on inputting the data.

"So you're really not gonna?"

Ziva jumped slightly at his voice, but he didn't seem to notice. "What?"

"Tell me your name? I was polite and everything." He made a _tsk, tsk_ sound. "Field agents. Always think they're too good to talk to the lowly computer geeks."

Ziva glared. "My name is _Ziva_, but to you I am Agent David, _Agent Francis_."

He cringed dramatically, "See, there's the saliva again. Really, let's go with Sam. At the very least, it may save your teeth some clenching."

He placed the file back in her lap. "Okay, the results should be back in a few hours if you'd like to come back and get them."

"Not likely. This is a one-time punishment for me," she stood and headed towards the door.

"Oh, even got a hair-flip out of it. Very Willow Smith," he threw after her. Ziva looked at him with absolute puzzlement, and he shook his head with a wry laugh.

"Don't worry, _Ziva_. The king of the computer geeks gives you permission to take leave. See you in a few hours."

And with that, he turned away from her and back towards his computer.

And that should have been it.

Except when she returned to the squad room, Tony was barking loudly like a dog, and the distraction caused her to hit her already bruised shin on her desk.

Ziva swore in Hebrew, and Tony threw her a flippant remark about her ninja skills being sacrificed in her assimilation to America.

Now, do not look at her like that. You are making assumptions again, and Ziva is sure Tony has gratuitously informed you about the danger of that. You do not learn. They are NCIS, circus of freaks. Goth, Assassin, Manchild, Geek, and well…Gibbs. Their lives will never be something that can be plotted.

And maybe you do not feel the same, but Ziva feels that we are too far in this to back out now. And in doing that, you are promising not to feel the two emotions towards her that she hates the most: judgment and pity.

There is no room for that now.

**-A/N#2: Also, don't hate Sam. He's not crazy, I promise. He's good people. **


	5. In Which We Know What's Happening

**A/N: So it's literally been three months. Muse packed a suitcase and took off running for Costa Rica, all cleverly plotted for when I was at school. I've finally caught her and dragged her ass back here, but she's still being stubborn about new chapters. Thus, chapters should come a little faster after this, if anyone is still interested in this story.**

**PSA: Some parts of this chapter describe abuse, and therefore may not be easy to read. **

**I could probably bribe the muse with reviews. Please? **

So you've returned. Ziva had, truthfully, hoped, that if she waited long enough, you would simply lose interest. Move on to the next crises, the next person to judge for how they handled their life.

Ziva honestly wonders why. You've invested in Tony's tales of woe, and surely he is a far better storyteller than her, if the detailed movie recaps are any indication.

And it isn't like you're going to judge her any less when we get further into this. She wants to make this clear, because let's not pretend you have any experience with quite as many traumas as she does:

When people get stuck, they do things they regret. And we can't change the past. And while some may say you can change your future (she remembers a teen saying it on a television singing show once), some people are destined for no happy endings. Or at least, no easy happy endings. It conflicts with what television tells us, she knows. But that is simply the way it is. You could either accept it and move on, or spend your whole life fighting a losing battle.

And Ziva should have told him, she knows. Hindsight being what it was, she knew he probably needed help beyond what she could give him. So she should have told him and urged him to get help. Should have dragged him to a psychiatrist and forced him to talk, really talk, about what was going on. Should have bound and gagged him, if necessary, and forced him to admit what was really wrong beyond the deflective humor and unnatural clinginess.

Yes, it would have been the hardest thing to tell him that Ziva could imagine. Yes, there was no telling what he would have done. Flown off the track, maybe. Maybe he'd turn the beatings on himself (_at least they wouldn't be on you_ her mind admitted for one terrible second). Ziva may have needed to employ Gibbs to keep him from running away and doing something stupid, but it would have been worth it.

And if you asked Ziva now why she did not, she would not be able to give you an answer any different then she would have back then. Because she thought she could fix it. Maybe she would wait it out. Maybe she thought it was simply lingering feelings of self-defense.

But if Ziva was honest (and must she be? It is her life. She's not even aware of why she is telling you this), it would be because she thought she could fix him. Maybe if she was supportive enough, loving enough, this relationship would survive on sheer force of will.

And maybe Ziva needed to think that more than Tony did. Maybe she needed to see that she could be a human, instead of _the ninja assassin _(she's aware people say it affectionately, but sometimes it reminds her that this is all she'll ever be to so many people. Just a trained assassin).

And she knew very well what was troubling Tony. It was the same thing that had troubled him. It was the same thing she had seen so many times in Israel.

_PTSD._

Funny how four letters could spell this much pain.

It shouldn't have been a surprise, either. Ziva knows Tony. As much as he likes to talk about women in a manner that could, at best, be called insensitive (_you need to be more careful, especially when it comes to matters of the heart_, she remembers telling him, what feels like so long ago), but he was truly a good man. She knew that, at least at the beginning, he truly cared about Shayla (her name is like vinegar in Ziva's mouth), and he holds himself responsible for EVERYTHING that happened. Every time he saw Ducky changing the bandages on his wound, she saw it cut into him. When Ziva flinched when he turned off the light that first night, she saw him cutting into himself. So why should she (or you) be surprised that this is the torture his mind is putting him through?

That night, Ziva will go home with Tony. To _their _apartment. They will laugh, they will talk, he will insist on cooking her dinner, and she will wonder why you think their relationship consists, solely and entirely, of Tony's walks with the monster (as she has come to call it). They will eat and talk and he will kiss her softly and maybe it will go further, maybe it will not.

And she does encourage you to skip over these next few sentences.

Something else only briefly flashed into her head. Fine, _someone _else.

_The king of the computer geeks gives you permission to take leave._

Why, she did not really know. Nor did she care to. It was not that she was not happy with Tony. She was. She was so happy with him that even the walks with the monster did not dispel it.

Then and now, Ziva thinks it best not to dwell on it.

And when they are tucked into bed, Ziva, as usual, set her phone on vibrate for 2:55 am. She has quickly learned that setting it earlier created too much anxiety about what will begin when the red letters on the bedside clock turn to 3am.

She will curl into the fetal position, feet tucked in, head slightly bowed.

And the first blow will usually land on her arm. It will be open hand. He usually starts slow.

The sting of it will fade quickly. But then a hard kick will land on her shin, and Ziva will bite down on her already bruised lips to keep from crying out.

Then his arm, nails extended will fly toward her head, and she will duck out of the way. It will land on her shoulder, and the nails will bury into her skin, often drawing blood.

His other arm will grab her hair, and she will try her best to stay in the fetal position so one of his legs will not land a blow on her stomach, knocking the air out of her.

Eventually he'll let go, and then there will a brief lull where he will toss and turn restlessly.

Occasionally, he will hit himself by accident, hard, and she will gently grab his hands, knowing full well this will make him turn even harder on her.

Soothing words and gestures have no effect, Ziva has learned, as he seems to hear none of it, but sometimes she can't help but smooth down some of his hair.

After twenty or so minutes, she knows the worst of it is over. He will still toss and turn for another hour or so, but she can lie there and know she will probably gain no more bruises or cuts that night.

Eventually, the cries die to whimpers, then nothing. He will have fallen asleep again.

If there are bleeding cuts, Ziva will sneak to the bathroom and quietly dress them. In the morning, she will get up a full hour ahead of him and carefully apply many shades of makeup to the new bruises.

Then she will leave soon after Tony gets up, telling him she is going to the gym (Ziva has quickly learned that he _may_ see some bruises and get suspicious. Better he think she has taken up Krav Maga again.).

And she will wander around the bottom of NCIS, when it is quiet and calm.

Only on this particular day that she recalls, if she were to tell this in chronological order, she found herself at a door she couldn't honestly say she didn't mean to walk to.

_Computer Crimes_

And as she glances through the door, she sees one computer on and dark hair sticking up in random places. Do not look at her like that. She can feel you judging her.

And perhaps it was a choice in itself to push the door open and slip inside. It was certainly a choice to take a seat beside the young man. Most definitely a choice to see him smile gently and edge a little closer.


End file.
